


Fade Away

by SelanPike



Category: MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Post-EOA5 Sadfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelanPike/pseuds/SelanPike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As you stumble down the street, trying in vain to hold the last of your blood in, you make the mistake of looking at the sky.</p><p>Change of plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Flare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/269927) by [The_Magical_Crawdad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magical_Crawdad/pseuds/The_Magical_Crawdad). 



            The Felt wouldn’t know efficiency if it bit them in the ass.

            That’s probably the wrong thing to be angry about at the moment, but it’s what keeps jumping out at you. Shoot you full of holes and then punch you into who-knows-what-month? Surely that last part could have been omitted. You’re already dying, what the hell’s the point?

            Your first thought is to go find Slick. You saw the injuries Boxcars and Deuce took, they probably didn’t make it, but Slick’s a survivor. You don’t doubt he made it out of there. You don’t know what you’ll do when you find him, maybe tell him to stop moping and get revenge for them, but you know you need to find him. As you stumble down the street, trying in vain to hold the last of your blood in, you make the mistake of looking at the sky.

            Fuck. Goddammit, Slick, you idiot.

            Change of plans. Fuck Slick, bastards who end the universe don’t deserve your encouragement. Pickle Inspector’s apartment is closer anyway.

            You don’t know how you managed to traverse the stairs, but you did, and when you open the door you find blood all over Inspector’s tiny apartment. You find him in the living room, slumped against the wall, idly drawing endless fractal spirals on the wall in his own blood. He doesn’t notice you. These spirals are all around him, some of them dried up by now, and you realize how long he must have been sitting here as he bled out. Of course he’d be too weak to get out and look for help. You see his phone on the floor near him, the receiver and rotary dial smeared with blood as though he’s been making phone calls. Did his comrades not answer? Did the Felt get them, too?

            You limp forward and nearly trip on some of the clutter he always keeps around. It’s in worse disarray than normal. The noise finally alerts him to your presence and he looks over, his eyes wide and his face so much paler than you’re used to.

            “Droog,” he says, his voice barely audible. He omits the ‘mister’ he usually adorns your name with. This is no time for honorifics. “Droog, Droog.”

            He tries to crawl to you, but only succeeds in falling over. You save him the trouble and walk to him, sitting at his side. He reaches out and grabs at your coat, but his hands are too weak to grip anything and fall limply to your lap. You take a hand and hold it. You try not to notice how cold he is.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

            You shoosh him, running your free hand through his hair. “It’s alright, Inspector. It doesn’t matter now.”

            He heaves, almost crying but not quite having the strength to. You steal a glance out of his shattered window. The stars in the sky are blinking out, one by one, and everything out there is a dim shade of blue. You wonder if he can feel it. You remember him telling you about how he created the universe and became every particle—sorry, part-pickle—in it. You thought it was another one of his fantasies, but Sleuth confirmed it to you. You were still skeptical, but you’re having a hard time finding the skeptical part of you right now.

            He manages to pull himself up long enough to put his head on your lap. He closes his eyes. His breathing is so shallow and you’re almost glad because at this rate he won’t live long enough to see his universe dissolve.

            “I’ll… I’ll have to introduce you to Death,” Pickle Inspector says, forcing the words out despite his lungs’ best effort. “He’s very nice. Polite. You’ll like him.” You assume he’s delirious. That’s to be expected. He takes as deep a breath as he can and continues talking. Something about board games, but his voice is fading and it’s getting harder for you to concentrate. His voice just blends into the ringing in your ears, the sound of your heart doing its damnedest to keep going. You don’t know when he stops talking, but you’re distinctly aware of when he stops breathing.

            Your head is swimming and you can’t hold yourself upright any longer. Not wanting to fall over—you may as well preserve what’s left of your dignity—you lay yourself down on the floor amongst Inspector’s spirals. You pull him close and hold him. The room around you is getting dimmer by the second, and you have no idea whether your part of the universe is finally fading away or if it’s just you.

           You guess it doesn’t matter much either way.

 

 


End file.
